By: Adrian Slonaker 

If you assume
I remember
you take hay fever medication every August;
your meals must be prepared macrobiotically;
you stroll alone through churchyards when you wish to reflect,
if you assume
I feel
the swirling cyan of your eyes penetrates my dreams like a spear,
your silly laugh strikes me as oddly endearing,
I should listen to your ear-shattering “music” just because it matters to you,
if you assume
I desire
your blessed companionship during winter’s first snowfall;
your hesitant vulnerability whenever you feel anxious;
your intent to share sudden gusts of good news first with me,
if you assume
I say
“A lifetime of your tender friendship is one of the sweetest gifts imaginable”;
“I’ll let down my guard for you to access what others have not seen”;
“I’ll love you forever in spite of myself,”
If you make these assumptions,
Then you’re shit out of luck.